


So Much Better Than You Know

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Series: alpha4alpha [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Dean Winchester, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, Self-Lubrication, Size Kink, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: The most forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, and Dean wants a taste of Sam.Two alphas shouldn't want each other.But when has Dean ever had any use for what should be?





	So Much Better Than You Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashhearts67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/gifts).
  * Inspired by [ART: Tied Up In Knots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/966649) by [kjanddean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/pseuds/kjanddean). 



> I know I just posted a big honking Wincest fic barely a handful of days before this one. I thought I was good for a while, really. Then I asked the Wincest Discord Server I'm a part of about an art that I saw long ago, briefly, just once - and less than five minutes later, they had come up with it, and approximately three seconds after viewing it a second, fifth, and eight seventh times, I just had to do something about it. So here we are, because I have incredibly poor impulse control.
> 
> ANYWAYYYYYYYY - this is for Cali, who has been monstrously kind about reading my trash stories, and for some reason, loving them extra hard. She's also responsible for the term "alpha rut hut" and I swear to God I'm never thinking about anything else ever again. Hope you enjoy it my buddy, I tried real hard <3

Dean needs to stop doing research.

Well, not all research, just some. 

Sam’s laying on the bed behind him, pretending to not be falling asleep as he thumbs through some positively  _ ancient  _ book he picked up, reading up on dead languages for fun because hello, it’s Sam, and he’s got a fetish for making sense out of the senseless. Big damn brain, never, ever stopping even for a second, it seems. Dean will leave him do it, scrolling nervously through the articles he’s been trying to read for the last few hours.

Let Sam think he’s surfing porn. That he’s having a lonely night, no willing ass to fuck, so he’s taking matters into his own hands. He’s two weeks off his rut, so it’s not like they’re going to be dealing with any insane levels of horniness. Horniness that gets dangerous, unless he finds a slicked up ass or two for the night. God, Dean loves that smell, but he hasn’t caught it on the wind in days now, not a single omega for miles.

Just him and Sam.

Sam, who very definitely doesn’t smell like an omega,  _ isn’t  _ an omega, and just… yeah, that’s bad fucking news and Dean is doing all this research because he’s a little messed in the head. Whatever.

_ Can two alphas be sexually compatible. _

He’s posed that question to the internet about ten times in the last week, and the amount of research on it is slim, near impossible to find super concrete evidence of. Just there seems to be a dearth of them as of late, omegas, but there are plenty of alphas. The wrong scent, the wrong attitude, the wrong  _ everything  _ but Dean can’t live with his hand forever. 

And Sam.

Fucking Sam, grown and lanky and still a little desultory about his being taken away from college. Dean gets that, he supposes. He’d been building a life, stability and hell, probably a whole fucking harem of omegas, because Sam is sweet and humble by turns, and that’s something that shouldn’t be attractive - except it works for him, the little bastard.

Only Sam isn’t little.

Dean’s burning with curiosity to know how  _ not  _ little.

He takes a sniff of the air, and he smells nothing but Sam and the crappy motel they’re staying in. Mold and other things that probably need to be cleaned up, but on top of that, Sam. Musky, masculine, and even if he doesn’t act like the alpha he is, he damn well smells like one. Combine that scent with those big fucking dimples and it’s no wonder Sam got plenty - or at least Dean imagines he did. He’s built this thing up, in his head, and really, he needs to stop picturing Sam behind some omega, growling and biting, filling them up until they’re sloshing with seed for days afterwards.

He shivers, hard enough that he can hear Sam wake up from where he was dozing.

“What’s up?” His voice is soft, yet still deep, and fuck, Dean needs to not listen so closely. That’s his  _ brother,  _ his brother who’s an alpha, and is not at all going to go ass up for him.

“Nothin, just… nothin.’ Keep reading.”

Sam gets up from the bed and stretches, craning his neck to see what he’s looking at. Dean gathers the laptop close, which just makes Sam try to look all the more.

“Dean, if you’re looking at fisting porn again, just admit it. I’m not gonna judge.”

Dean scowls, and Sam braces his arms on the table, levelly returning his glare. “Not  _ fisting porn,  _ that’s gross, dude.”

“You mean you’ve never wanted to check how badly you wrecked a hole?” Sam laughs, licks his lips, and stretches again. Christ, it’s bad enough not having a warm body in his bed but Dean had honest to God forgotten that Sam has a filthy side, one he’s alarmingly candid about when it’s just them. It’s partly Dean’s fault, from when they were younger, and Dean had no one to brag to but his easily impressionable little brother. Watching Sam squirm as he’d detailed his latest conquest, that had been  _ glorious,  _ and okay, yes, maybe he liked that he knew it turned Sam on. Could always smell the arousal on him the longer and more detailed he’d gotten.

Sam though, he would never say anything. Would just come back from wherever with the scent all over him, the scent of sex and slick and all those other things that drive Dean fucking wild, wearing a quietly smug look on his face. Had always driven Dean up the wall, and for a while, had resulted in them load tagging the other’s stuff in retribution. Nasty, juvenile bullshit, that Dean has to fight back the memories of some nights.

He knows what Sam’s come smells like, and how there was always so  _ much.  _ Perfect fucking amount for breeding, and unless Sam had taken birth control like he’s supposed to, he’s probably got a bunch of little ones running around somewhere. God, he needs to not ponder him being fruitful, what it would be like to see all of that-

“You’re gross, man. Just… gross.”

Dean isn’t turned on, he  _ isn’t. _

The stirring at the base of his cock kind of calls him the fuck out on that one.

Dean really, really needs to get laid and work this shit out of his system. He’s not going to masturbate with Sam in the room, or anywhere near him for that matter, but he’s desperate. Three weeks, and it’s been pure torture. Even a beta at this point would be fine, he just has to be careful before he locks up on them. 

“Takes one to know one, Dean.” Sam finally straightens up and he scratches at his belly, shirt riding up to expose muscle that Dean doesn’t remember being there when he was a teen. He’s got a dark treasure trail now, a sign of more fucking growing up, and Dean can’t help the way his eyes quickly trace its path down to the waistband of his jeans. 

“Don’t you have like, microfilm to read?” Dean closes his legs, does a fast one eighty in his mind, away from the dirty-bad temptation that his hormones are trying to make him comfortable with. Sam just looks at him again, face inscrutable, bangs probably soft as he brushes them back from his head.

“Not unless you have a reader in the trunk of the car.” He stretches again and goes back to his bed, hauling his bag up onto it. “What time is it?”

“After ten, a little. Why?”

Sam shrugs out of his shirt, dressing down like it’s fucking nothing as he pulls on a rattier shirt, this one clinging to his frame like it was painted on. “Gonna go loosen up some. Think there’s a gym down the street.” 

Either Sam’s cottoned on to Dean’s unspoken desire, or he’s just being modest when he turns around to drop his jeans and underwear, his ass just… there. Beautiful, a little fuzzy and hell, Dean needs to stop. Right fucking now.

The glance of Sam’s balls when he bends down to pull up his compression shorts has Dean clenching the crotch of his jeans, his cock, his dumb, horny cock, heading towards full fucking mast and he’s not got a super firm grip on his inhibitions at the moment. Sam just needs to fucking go and let Dean work this out himself, get out his toy and fuck it stupid, probably until the damn thing breaks. Hell, at this point, he might even pick up Sam’s book and see how well that kills his arousal. 

The compression shorts don’t do much to hide Sam’s bulge, and neither do the threadbare sweatpants he’s wearing. “You okay, Dean?”

“Just stir crazy. Might get a drink.” Yeah, that would be it, and maybe just being around other people would help. Other alphas, no, probably not, because that much testosterone almost always ends in a fight and Dean isn’t out for blood, not tonight.

“Watch out,” Sam says, and he’s jamming his feet into his running shoes, key in hand and then he’s gone, leaving Dean with a massive fucking boner and a hopeless feeling. Being back on the road with Sam, okay, fine that’s not bad. That’s great, he loves having him here, right fucking next to him to aggravate, laugh with, just to  _ be,  _ but the dark part of him that’s always looked at Sam as more than his brother, wants things he can’t have?

It’s been getting lighter, and Dean spends a lot more time these days wondering about the taste of Sam’s skin. His neck. That smell that emanates from every part of him, irresistible. Their chemistry isn’t there, not the physical anyway but dammit, Dean is drawn to him. He wants to blame it on just having him back in his life but he knows better, knows that this… obsession… started long before that.

Around the time Sam was fifteen and popped his first knot, terrified as hell and Dean had been the only one to talk him through it, Sam on one side of the bathroom door in that Duluth motel, Dean on the other, ignoring the painfully throbbing erection between his legs as he’d listened to Sam bring himself relief. The steps he would have to take from now on, how careful he’d have to be of his ruts.

Dean’s jerked off to that memory way too many times, and Christ, it needs to stop, he needs something to fuck or kill, because even hunts have been thin on the ground lately. He groans, dick hard, chest tight, all too aware of the parts of his body that haven’t gotten what they wanted lately.

He picks up his jacket, because he is  _ not  _ going to spend the night jerking off in this motel room, there has to be someone,  _ somewhere.  _ Just has to be.

Even in a one drinking hole town like Cotswald, Massachusetts, there’s got to be a willing hole out there.

 

___

 

Whatever it is that’s considered the “house special” is about two steps away from poison.

Pure, god knows what proof poison, and Dean has almost had enough of it to ignore the pull he keeps feeling low in his belly. He’s buzzed, the bartender isn’t asking questions, and has obliged without argument the three times that Dean has asked for more. Pure, Cotswald rotgut, Dean names it, and it’s not even like he’s enjoying the taste - it doesn’t fucking  _ have  _ any.

At first he’d been worried that he had stumbled into territory he shouldn’t be in, that this was some dive for the express use of one type of alpha, and one only. Turns out it’s a plain old bar with shitty lighting,  _ maybe  _ four choices of beer, and a lot of folks who aren’t there to talk, just to drink. It’s the worst place to try and pick up someone, but short of him going outside and pissing his scent every twenty feet, it’s the best option Dean has right now.

It’s been an hour or better, and so far, no one has risen to the bait. There’s a smell of other alphas in the air, sure - but none of them make Dean weak in the knees, and none of them seem to have much interest in Dean.  Hell, why should they? Dean’s the one with the problem, not them.

He shouldn’t be all that surprised when Sam wanders in, having found his not so good hiding spot, apparently. He sits down in the booth opposite Dean, a beer already in his hand, showered and dressed and yet he still smells incredible, enough to cut through the liquor Dean’s current pouring down his gullet.

“That stuff looks like it could kill someone.” Sam sips his beer, eying Dean with concern. “And I am  _ not  _ holding your hair when you puke it all up tomorrow morning.”

“‘M not gonna puke,  _ Sam. _ ” He’s an alpha; he doesn’t throw up. Ever.

Sam snorts, fingers curled around his beer bottle, playing with the label where it’s loose at one corner. “You can’t tell me you’re actually enjoying that.”

“Not about enjoyment, Sam.” Dean really needs to get a handle on this, or he and Sam are going to end up having a  _ conversation.  _ One of those that Dean doesn’t like to have, because why does he need to. He’s horny, he needs to stop looking at Sam, and that’s it. Nothing else.

“Dean.”

A little hit of his alpha voice, and Dean reluctantly meets Sam’s gaze. “What.”

“If you need me to clear out for a while, just say it, alright? I can sleep in the car if… you know. Nature needs to take its course.” Sam’s trying to offer Dean what he needs, really, but God, all of Dean’s wants are currently Sam-shaped, and that’s not going to get him anywhere. Wrong type, wrong blood, wrong everything.

Thing is, his dick is doing its best to ignore all those convenient facts for him. Maybe his brain, too, what of it isn’t currently pickled by Cotswald’s finest or taken offline by hormones.

Dean blows out, and Sam visibly flinches at the smell of pure ethanol hits him. “Sorry,” Dean mumbles, and pushes his glass away. Maybe spelling this shit out would help some. Not like anything else has worked all that well.

“Spill,” Sam says, and of course he’s ready to listen, it’s fucking Sam, who probably gets off on watching people having heart to heart conversations.

“What… what do you do when, you know, you can’t find someone. An omega.” Dean isn’t willing to let on more than that, and Sam is obviously expecting more. “And it gets uncontrollable.”

Sam doesn’t reply for a beat, picking the label on the bottle. “Is that a general question, or me specifically?”

Dean rolls his eyes - or at least it feels like he does. “Second thing, dipshit.”

A frown, but Sam soldiers on anyway. “First option is always the obvious. Paint the walls of the shower and wash it down.” That calls up a whole fucking bunch of images that Dean could have done without, and he shifts in his seat, the wood creaking under him. Sam tilts his head, and yeah, he knows the state that Dean is currently in. He  _ has  _ to.

Dean swallows, the taste of liquor bitter and hot in his mouth. “What… what’s the second.”

Sam licks his lips, picking his words like he’s walking through a minefield. “Another alpha.”

Dean damn near bites through his own tongue, because the thought of  _ Sam,  _ being like that with another- fuck, no. No no, not  _ his  _ Sam-

_ His Sam. _

_ Sammy. _

“Dean,  _ breathe. _ ”

Dean does, mentally kicking himself for letting his demeanor slip. “What do you mean?”

Sam waits for him to calm back down, keeping his voice level as he continues. “Sometimes, when I can’t find an omega, Dean, I’ll hook up with another alpha.We both get off, we go our separate ways.” He’s taking his time, deliberately letting Dean process. “It’s not… bad, actually. In fact, it’s really, really good.”

Dean fidgets with his glass, still fighting the image of some  _ other  _ alpha touching Sam. Making Sam moan, fucking Sam,  _ scenting him.  _ He hates that, because he should be the only one, the only other alpha in Sam’s life, and…

Shit.

“Good? How the hell can two alphas enjoy… that sort of connection.”

“Because it’s not really a connection. More of an understanding.” Sam leans in, lowering his voice. “Alphas, once they get there, are really fucking good at touching other alphas.”

Dean can’t ignore the fact that he’s interested, and even though Sam is trying to be as neutral as possible, he wants to listen more to him about alphas touching. “How.”

Sam licks his lips and fuck, this is some sweet kind of retribution in it? He made Sam listen to it enough when they were younger, and this is one area where he absolutely, one hundred percent has the advantage. “Wanna know something, Dean? Omegas can beg, yeah, and they beg really pretty. Alphas? God, Dean alphas will  _ howl  _ to have their knot milked, touched the right way. Omegas are designed, built to take them, but we  _ have  _ them. Know what buttons need to be pushed, where to be touched.” 

Dean’s mouth is dry, his cock hard enough in his jeans to cut diamond. Sam’s riling him up, and Dean is thinking that maybe his attraction isn’t so baseless after all. He can smell it on Sam, how much he’s enjoying this, the directness in his tone. This is going right to Dean’s core, and he fucking knows it. “But… how do you find another alpha who’s cool with it, uh, being touched.”

“You hear stuff, Dean. Just have to know where to look.” Sam licks his lips and fuck, he’s got a really goddamn gorgeous tongue, a flash of bright pink amongst the dinginess of the bar. “At school, there was a group. Unofficial frat, I guess. Brady was a member, and he invited me, one night.”

Dean can’t even be jealous right now, hanging on to Sam’s every word. “And you… saw it.”

Sam nods, and he’s close, his breath a puff of warm, beery air against Dean’s face. “It was  _ hot,  _ Dean. All these big, swinging cocks, knots so swollen that they looked like they’d burst. The scent, Christ, Dean, that much testosterone is one fucking place - it’s indescribable. You think omegas get hot for it? You haven’t seen  _ anything  _ until you’ve seen two alphas in rut going at each other.”

A wet, sticky feeling blossoms against Dean’s leg, and he realizes then that he’s leaking precome, probably enough to show through his pants. “How do you not kill each other, I mean… there’s an instinct, isn’t there?”

“Not all the time, and trust me, I’ve gotten my ass handed to me a couple of times. Before Jess, and…” Sam stops himself, and takes a swallow of beer. Dean keeps meaning to ask about that, how the hell Sam didn’t just wither away after she died.

Unless…

They were never mated.

Mated completely, at least.

“Sammy, that’s dangerous.” Dean feels protective again, and the ugly bile of jealousy comes back to rise in his throat. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

“And most alphas, at our age, Dean, they’re mated. Seems like at Stanford,  _ everyone  _ was paired, or heading for it. I wanted to with Jess, but…” He gets that melancholy look again, and Dean quietly urges him to go on, holding himself forward. “We never got there. Physically, yeah, but the emotional bond, it… didn’t happen. I tried, and she tried but I uh… couldn’t.”

How the hell someone couldn’t find that connection with Sam, who’s way more heart than he is anything else, is beyond Dean. “She didn’t… shit, Sam, you don’t have to say.”

“No, Dean, it’s… I was already emotionally bonded with someone else. It wasn’t fair to her, and God, she deserved better. Way, way better.” Sam scrubs a hand over his face, a sadness, deep and complete, lingering in his eyes. “Why do you think I didn’t hesitate when you asked me to come with you.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“So… Sammy, that’s…”

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam exhales, picking at the table top. “And I think that’s why we haven’t killed each other yet, with how...dry things have been lately. Stands to reason we should have ripped a throat out before now, doesn’t it?”

Dean kind of hates it when Sam makes sense, because it’s the overwhelming sort that makes him feel like it should have been obvious all along. Sam nudges his foot under the table, and Dean looks back up at him, truth as clear as day between them. “What do we do, then. How does this… fuck, Sam, I…”

“I know, Dean.” Sam doesn’t look mad, or upset, or even disappointed, simply… accepting, which somehow sits even funnier with him. “It took me a while to figure it out, and I struggled that it wasn’t with an omega. Thought for sure that I was fucked up, and I thought maybe a couple of those times when I went where I shouldn’t that… they could end it. So that you wouldn’t know.”

Dean feels like the world has been tilted on its side, and he’s barely clinging to the edge to keep himself from sliding off. Sam’s still giving him an out, if he wants it, but God, it’s not just him. 

_ Not just Dean. _

Sam  _ wants  _ him.

“Kinda selfish, don’t you think?” Dean clenches his fists on the table, and Sam stares at his hands, the tips of his fingers just an inch or so from them.

“Yeah, it was. And I’m sorry about it.” Sam looks up, his mouth parted and so, so sweet looking, the ripest, most forbidden fruit of all. “But Dean, if… if this happens - I don’t know what’s on the other side. I never got that far with another…”

“You mean… no one ever knotted you, or… vice versa?”

Sam shakes his head, and Christ, the knowledge that Sam is a virgin like that, never got what he wanted,  _ needed -  _ Dean’s on one mission now. Screw the dynamics, the rules,  _ everything.  _ He’s already hard coded to Sam, and they both fucking know it, too. 

“It never has felt quite right, with another omega. Never went beyond the surface, and God, Dean, I was ashamed of that.” Sam reaches for him, tracing his finger over the curve of Dean’s knuckles, electric fire racing over his skins. “Just wanted to be like you, wanted to be normal.”

“Sammy, I’m about as far as you can get from that.” Dean’s voice is barely audible, frozen by Sam’s proximity, his scent carrying forth his message along a whole lot fucking faster than his words. “And I want to know. What’s on the other side, of...this.”

He’s close,  _ so fucking close,  _ and Sam’s eyes darken, his hindbrain very quickly taking over the driver’s seat and putting the foot down with no regards for the breaks. “Me too, Dean.”

Very, very carefully Dean moves, drops some money on the table and without a word, Sam follows him out of the bar, scent pouring forth from him and he feels it, then, his rut is coming, and coming fast, moved up by the massive hormonal shift he just experienced. The knowledge that Sam is accepting, and actively telling him that this is okay, their connection isn’t some fucked up fantasy, that’s what does it.

He can’t fucking help it anymore.

Dean has to  _ taste  _ him.

Taste his Sammy, and not stop until he’s gotten his fill.

The parking lot is empty save for a couple of cars and Dean’s managed to find the darkest corner, and the moment they’ve crossed that shadow, he’s reaching for Sam, shoving his face against his neck and inhaling and Sam was right, so, so fucking right, it  _ is  _ good, alphas by nature designed to attract, draw in, and Sam’s is strong, making Dean’s mouth water with want. Sam bears his neck,  _ trusting  _ Dean to not hurt him, and he never, ever could, not once, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

Sam smells incredible, and Dean’s kind of forgotten about anything else.

A groan, torn from deep within Sam’s chest, loud and low, setting Dean’s nerves on a knife edge. “We need to get inside, and soon.” He pulls Dean up against the side of the Impala, rubbing his body all over him, hands grabbing wherever they land. “My knot just fucking popped.”

Christ, Sam just fucking went into rut with him, the smell unmistakable. Dean licks him up from his throat to his ear, wanting just a little bit of that power for himself. Sam moans, grinding his hips against Dean’s, cock a thick, hot line in his jeans. Dean doesn’t touch him there yet, has to do this thing right, and whatever happens, it’s not going to be fucking here.

He doesn’t feel drunk anymore, just...hot. “Get in,” Dean growls, and Sam obeys, trembling like an omega when they’re in the first stages of heat except it’s way more aggressive, palpable, and Dean loves it, already. Sam gets it, too, the emotion mirrored on Dean’s face as his own. Dean can barely get the shake in his hands to stop long enough to put the keys in the ignition, and here, closed up together, the scent and attraction is even stronger.

Sam leans over as he puts the car in gear and licks Dean’s jaw, scooting close and going up behind his ear. “Smell good, Dean.” He’s slurring a little, nothing stopping him from going further. “Smell like… fuck, Dean you just smell  _ good. _ ”

It’s going to be the end of him, he swears it is, dead and gone because his little brother’s hormones have completely shut down everything else in him. “Easy, tiger, we ain’t there yet.”

Sam growls, not a threat, just frustration. “Already looking forward to the morning, Dean, waking you up, waiting for you pop for me.” Every word is heavy with carnality, promise, things that Dean has only ever dared to dream of on the loneliest and darkest of nights. “Know what to do with it, Dean, swear I do.”

“Believe it, Sammy, promise.” Dean’s running out of words too, and the motel isn’t that fucking far away, thank God, because another mile and he’d have Sam over the hood - or maybe Sam would have him, fuck, he’s never found an omega brave enough to play with his ass. All of the stuff that makes alphas tick is down there, glands, knot, prostate - it’s linked for breeding, and having gone this long without proper release, Dean’s starting to not care  _ how  _ he gets it, so long as it’s got.

They park in the motel and Sam’s out like a shot, running for the door and Dean’s behind him, the breeze blowing back so that all he can pick up is Sam, and it’s all he gives a shit about, because Sam has what he wants. Dean stops short of him, letting Sam get the door open, looking back over his shoulder to check if Dean is still there.

“Not goin’ anywhere, baby boy.”

Sam licks his teeth and fuck, yeah, Dean wants that too, wants Sam to bite and claim and mark him up, their scents one and the same. “Good.”

Yeah, it’s good,  _ really  _ fucking good.

Sam walks to the bed and waits, shoulders dropping as he relaxes himself; consent or not, this is still potentially dangerous, and Dean doesn’t think he should move quite as fast as his body is telling him. He watches as Sam takes off his jacket, dropping it to the floor, t-shirt clinging to his back and shoulders where he filled the fuck out. Dean does the same, just the two layers of fabric separating them, and he can do this, he can approach Sam and make this happen.

“Not scared, Dean.” Sam turns around and he stays, eyes roaming over Dean’s body. “I just… I want to do it right.”

Dean nods, taking another step towards him, the last gasp of disbelief evaporating. “We will, Sammy.” He places his hands on Sam’s hips and here, up close like this, Sam feels a lot taller than him, craning his head down to keep Dean’s eyes locked with his. “Couldn’t have it any other way.”

Sam’s head dips, brushing his lips once against Dean’s, a soft  _ want you  _ falling from them. Dean mouths it back, and they get there, finally,  _ finally  _ get there, both of them shaking so much that Dean can’t tell where his nervousness ends and his relief begins. He’s so powerfully aware of Sam’s body, his nature,  _ everything,  _ complimenting his own in ways that Dean’s never felt duplicated with someone else. He can nearly taste the blood under Sam’s skin, vital and red and wonderful, calling to him, reassuring that this is right, it’s good, that this isn’t something he has to be afraid of.

His lips part for Sam’s tongue, willing and unresisting, and God, that’s better than incredible, hooked on it already. Dean opens his mouth wider, holding on tight to Sam’s body, wrapping a leg around Sam’s calves and turning them so that he’s under Sam on the bed, a slow moving tangle of limbs that Dean is pretty sure is a defiance of nature itself. Sam doesn’t push, but he doesn’t give way, either, keeping up the intensity until they’re cradled against the pillows, Dean’s hands in Sam’s hair and not a glimmer of moonlight between them. Dean doesn’t want this to end, and Sam tastes nothing like he imagined and everything he’s dreamt of, addictive in a way that makes him wonder how the hell they managed to resist this long.

No fucking turning back now, that’s for fucking sure.

Sam finally has to pull back to breathe and he’s flushed, completely, running his fingers over Dean’s lips and jaw. “Your mouth, it…” Sam seals their lips together again, licking across Dean’s tongue, pulling away with a release of his teeth. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“That a testament to my kissing, or are you just horny?”

He’s not expecting the hand that Sam puts between them, lightning fast, squeezing him through his jeans and making Dean  _ howl.  _ “Your kissing skills are  _ exceptional,  _ and that’s all I’m gonna say about them.” He lets go of Dean’s crotch and slides his shirt up, licking Dean’s chest, rubbing his cheek against him and fuck, Sam  _ is  _ going to leave his scent all over him, every fucking inch of his body. “Just… it’s better than what I had built up in my head.” Sam climbs more on top of him, looming over Dean’s body so that his vision is filled with nothing but him.

Dean doesn’t mind that at all.

Hell, Sam can  _ stay  _ there, if he wants.

“For the record…” Dean doesn’t finish, just grabs the back of Sam’s head and hauls him back down, satisfied that they aren’t going to kill each other if he kicks things up a notch. Sam growls, playful, kissing Dean back with as much bite as he’s being given. This? He can get used to it. Hell, his tongue has been in Sam’s mouth for all of less than ten minutes and already he knows that he doesn’t want anything else, because what Sam’s giving him is something no one else can. Dean isn’t even sure if he  _ needs  _ that, not when Sam’s scent and taste are already hooking in him and drawing him deep.

Later - right now he’s got Sam, and it’s still unbelievable that they’re doing this, but his instinct is telling him that maybe he didn’t waste his time pining so long for him. 

Sam draws back, moving his attentions to Dean’s neck and throat, kissing and scraping his teeth against his skin. “Can touch me back, Dean.” He gives Dean access to him, and Dean moves Sam’s hair out of the way, worrying the side of Sam’s jaw and neck, right at their connection. Heat flares in his belly, the primal, addictive act of scenting out his brother making his toes curl. Sam smells delightfully familiar and foreign all at the same time, nothing at all of the sweetness he finds with omegas, instead there’s earth, vastness, something akin to a gathering thunderstorm that makes Dean want to stand in it and be drenched. Each alpha has their own scent, and Christ, Sam’s is so highly distinctive; Dean is going to smell like that too, and that knowledge makes him groan with a desire for more.

Eventually they meet each other’s mouths again and Dean gets his hands between them, tugging at the hem of Sam’s shirt. It comes off, as does Dean’s and fuck, Dean likes that, likes how he can feel each muscle ripple in Sam’s torso as he moves, bending over Dean to claim another kiss. Dean runs his fingers down his back, wanting to soak up some of that essence for himself, and Sam lets him, Dean’s hands cupping his chest, his hips, right down to the waistband of his jeans, proud of how grown up and beautiful his little brother is.

“Wanna see you, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes darken further and he licks across Dean’s windpipe, setting himself back so that he’s bathed in moonlight, his fingers teasing and playing with himself through his jeans.

Even here, unseen, Dean can tell Sam’s big.

_ Really  _ big.

Sam takes Dean’s right hand and places it over his bulge, never breaking eye contact. Dean can feel his knot, swollen as his own with nowhere to put it. “Feel this, Dean?” He leans down, lips soft as silk as they move in a meandering line up from Dean’s chest to his mouth. “All for you,  _ alpha. _ ”

Dean growls, sinking his teeth into Sam’s lip - he’s done being patient, and Sam’s pretty fucking irresistible right now. He tears at his jeans and Sam does what he can, tangling fingers with Dean as they get his jeans and belt undone. Dean’s getting desperate and with another growl, he shoves himself up and pushes Sam down on the bed, yanking and pulling until Sam is completely naked, fuck, he’s  _ gorgeous  _ like this and yeah, Dean was fucking right - big even for an alpha, his knot fully swollen and so, so tempting, foreskin pulled all the way back and coated with precome. Sam strokes himself, two hands, one wrapped around his knot and other going up his shaft to shove a long, silvery string of pre out of his slit. 

“Fair’s fair, Dean.” Sam takes a hand way, propping his arm behind his head and watching, waiting for Dean to show him the rest of what he as. Dean does it, eyes drinking in the long, muscle-cut lines of Sam’s body, all of it, every inch of skin, bared just for Dean.

Dean settles in on top of him, chest to chest, and Sam does that thing again where he cups the back of Dean’s head as he kisses him, staking a claim that every instinct is telling Dean that he shouldn’t be comfortable with. Dean gives in, not because he has to, but because it’s Sam, and it’s their first time. They’ll throw each other around later, he’s sure of it, and he’ll welcome that - but for now, he just wants to keep kissing and inhaling Sam, their cocks lined up and leaking against each other. 

Sam’s got them in hand, stroking slow and easy, grip firm without squeezing. Their knots keep catching against each other and fuck yeah, Dean likes that, loves the jolts of pure electricity it sends up his spine every time that happens. Sam’s good at this,  _ really fucking good, _ confident in how he’s touching Dean, sucking on his tongue again and making Dean whine for it.

Dean’s never whined for  _ anyone,  _ and here’s Sam, making him beg like he’s been doing it all along. Sam just smiles against his lips, all tongue and teeth, letting his bottom lip go with a wet, slow release.

“Sound awfully fuckin’ desperate, Dean.” Sam drags his mouth lower, circling Dean’s nipples with his tongue, skimming along his collarbone with barely held back teeth, making all sorts of moans spill unbidden from Dean’s lips. “Knew you’d be a moaner.” 

“You tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” Dean lets his head fall back, hands in Sam’s hair as he goes lower and lower, licking the juts of Dean’s hipbones, worshiping, inhaling his scent, his cock straining so hard he’s on the verge of pain. Sam looks up, his mouth hovering just an inch above the flared head of Dean’s cock.

“Wanna know something else?” He sticks his tongue out, teasing Dean’s frenulum. “When we’re in rut, our bodies can handle...more.” Sam makes damn sure that Dean is watching, his mouth swallowing Dean without any fucking trouble at all, lips stretched around his girth and going down, down, down, all the way to his knot, sitting up and humming with relief; that much essence, all at once, Dean can only imagine what it’s doing to Sam right now. It’s leaving Dean’s head spinning, the hot, wet close of Sam’s mouth on him, swallowing Dean’s precome and inhaling his phermones. How the hell they’re still under control is beyond Dean, but fuck, Sam’s mouth feels really fucking good, and to just… take Dean like that, fuck, Dean’s never experienced anything like that.

The most willing, bendable omega can’t fucking compare to this, always moving on and over him with timidity, to an extent; Sam’s doing this for himself as much as he is for Dean, greedy and open about it, mouth sliding up and down Dean’s cock as he milks him. He can feel himself in Sam’s throat, pushing him aside, fucking choking him but Sam, fucking Sam, doesn’t miss a goddamn beat. 

Dean starts to thrust, and Sam clamps a hand around his knot, making him still. He comes up with a slurp, spit and precome connecting them, mouth to cock. “I’m not done with you yet.” Sam licks his cock, right up the fat vein pulsing along the bottom, moving low past the base of his shaft, past his balls, shoving Dean’s legs up to his chest.

“Sammy,” Dean warns, the concept of whatever Sam is about to do probably fine but fuck, he’s still not used to someone else down there. Sam looks up at him, sucking on his balls, his left hand wrapped around Dean’s cock.

“Trust me.”

Sam licks him again, his hand never stopping on his cock; the glands at the base of his cock, swollen, pent up, tender, even, that’s where Sam goes. They’re between the juncture of his thigh and his sac, so full that they’re obvious against the surface of his skin. Sam traces his tongue over them, and fuck, that’s good, it’s  _ incredible,  _ unfiltered pleasure shooting up through Dean’s body. He watches a drop of come leaking from his slit, clinging to the precome that’s steadily pooling on his stomach. This is different, a million fucking times better than a blowjob, and Sam doesn’t stop there, moving up to his knot and sucking gently at its bottom edge, making Dean squirm and grab for Sam’s head, wanting to keep him right fucking there. Sam snaps at him, a genuine warning growl -  _ don’t fuck with me right now Dean, I’m taking what’s mine -  _ and then goes back to his cock, sucking, massaging, working Dean until he’s howling.

“That’s fuckin’ it, Dean, get fuckin’ loud for me.” Sam keeps giving, his mouth and fingers infuriatingly good. He doesn’t stop, either, keeping Dean right on the fucking edge because he can, knows enough of where to touch, lick, scrape his teeth - Sam’s nipped him twice, right near his scent glands, and it damn near made Dean lose it right then.

He’s wrecked, hooked, addicted, and Sam has no end to what he’s feeding Dean. Sam finally takes mercy on him, surging forward for a kiss that doesn’t fucking end. He pushes his tongue into Dean’s mouth, their combined tastes heady and dirty-wrong, and fuck, Dean wants more of that, wants to lick more of himself from Sam’s mouth.

Sam moans, low and needy, jerking them off together again. “This is what I want, Dean - you’re gonna breed my fuckin’ mouth.” He doesn’t go, not yet, nose shoved against Dean’s. “Not gonna fuckin’ stop until you’ve emptied every fuckin’ drop from your balls.”

Dean really isn’t in a position to disobey, is he?

And Sam, goddammit, he’s just so easily slid into the dominant role, almost  _ expecting  _ Dean’s compliance. Not his submission, because really, that’s not in either of them’s nature, just his permission. No, Dean doesn’t have  _ any  _ problem doing that, and watching as Sam’s mouth slides down over his cock once again, he suspects it’s something he can get used to. He’s not felt this good, this high, in a long fucking time and Sam’s given him that, without once stopping to criticize Dean for wanting it.

“God, Sammy, your fuckin’  _ mouth. _ ” Dean puts his hand on the top of Sam’s hand and feels him choke around his knot, too wide for him but the proximity and wetness of Sam’s mouth is good enough to fool him. “Gonna swallow me, aren’t you?” Sam’s eyes narrow,  _ yeah, Dean, and you better give every drop up -  _ and it’s too fucking irresistible, fucking Sam’s mouth and throat in shallow, ragged thrusts. “Fuck, baby boy, you look really fuckin’ good with my cock in your mouth.”

Sam growls, the vibrations from his voice signaling approval, and Dean can’t control his mouth anymore, watching himself take Sam’s mouth, just that little bit back for himself. “Wanted that dirty fuckin’ mouth for the longest time, Sammy, just waitin’ to be ruined.” Dean’s close, and Sam gets his hand on Dean’s balls, squeezing them and his knot, milking and tugging, killing Dean’s capacity to do anything but let go.

The first wave of his orgasm fucks him up into Sam’s mouth, knot swelling and trying to plug Sam’s mouth, pump after pump of come going straight down Sam’s throat. Sam moans as he swallows, tears leaking from his eyes as Dean thrashes and comes, and when it ends, half a minute later of exhausting, complete ecstasy, Dean’s shivering, moaning, and Sam’s over him, jerking himself off, come dripping from his mouth and chin, licking it up like he’s got a right to it.

“My fuckin’ turn, Dean.” He has one hand on his knot, his other stroking himself in long, showy motions, trying so, so hard to keep eye contact with Dean but he can’t tossing his head back as he releases, nailing Dean right in the face, over and over again, coating him in his come and scent. Dean clings to Sam’s hips, mouth open and waiting and halfway through he’s right there, swallowing the rest, hitting his system with the equivalent effect of hardcoding his DNA to Sam’s. He gets greedy for it, slurping Sam’s cock down until he’s at his knot and pulling, begging for more, sealed around Sam’s knot until Sam has to push him away and try to breathe again.

They give each other space, just for a minute, looking at each other, the mess they’ve made of their bodies; Dean isn’t sure if he wants to come again or bury himself in Sam’s warm body, kiss him, and then come again. Christ, he’s feeling the full effects of his rut now, and Sam’s still hard, just the same as him, but he can’t possibly come in the next few minutes.

“We… fuck, Dean, you…” Sam’s voice is a wreck, and Dean’s cock throbs at the thought of what got him there. “You liked that, huh?”

Dean laughs, and God, he wants Sam, in every possible way. “Think it needs another round, just to make sure. Kinda hated the part where you…”

Sam’s on him, pushing him down on the bed and grappling him into a kiss and yeah, this is it, this is closer to what he needs. This could still go tits up, and fast, but right now, Dean’s not going to worry. He can make this work, and shit, Sam’s pretty fucking onboard with it too.

He just hopes that nature doesn’t tell them to knock it the fuck off and have them tearing each other apart in the morning.

Dean has a fairly positive feeling that’s not going to happen.

 

___

 

By the time they leave that motel room three days later, both of them are sore down to their bones. Dean hasn’t had so many orgasms in his life, his jaw aching and his cock tender from Sam’s constant attention. Sam looks mightily proud of himself and shit, Dean can’t fucking blame him. They just survived a monstrously intense rut without killing each other, probably ruined a queen sized bed (the other one isn’t in much better shape) and even though they tried to clean it up, left come staining most of the surfaces in the room. The next people who stay there, well, Dean feels sorry for them. He didn’t mean for it to turn into an alpha rut hut, but nature’s got a funny way of dictating things that aren’t easily understandable.

Dean waits for it to end, this real-life fantasy, waits for Sam to tell him to get lost and find an omega, he’s not Dean’s to touch and he fucking well knows it. Odds are against them, as they should be, and Dean has a really hard time letting himself enjoy this newfound...thing, between them. Happiness. Pleasure. Intimacy, even. He isn’t sure what to call it, just that he and Sam touch each other a lot more and Sam’s mouth feels really fucking good on him. There’s a constant, unmistakable want to be around each other, and Dean tries, a couple of weeks later, getting a room with just a king bed. When he mentions it to the receptionist at their motel, he  _ feels  _ Sam’s approval, just as palpable as a hand on the back of his neck or fingers in his hair, correct, mutually desired; Dean finally figures out what happens, this  _ something  _ that’s growing in importance and size between them.

They’re courting, in their own raw, explosive way, one step at a time and no, Dean doesn’t have a playbook for this, but he’s figuring it out. Most of what he’s leaning revolves around “does it feel good or right? Yes? Then keep doing it.”

It’s not the worst way to live, Dean figures. He can feel them making up a lot of last time, the gap that Stanford and everything else left between them filling in, sometimes smoothly, sometimes fitfully. They’re still reconciling a lot of shit, and Dean doesn’t expect that to happen overnight. He’s still himself, and Sam is very definitely still Sam.

Some things don’t change, and even if they weren’t both alphas, this wouldn’t be easy. Dean still feels guilt over lusting for his little brother, and the fact that Sam hasn’t exactly tried to stop him  _ should  _ be discomfiting.

But he still feels their bond getting stronger and stronger, and Sam’s good enough to just not say anything about it, to let it happen and lie down next to Dean at night, correct in his wanting to be there. Sam might drive when they fuck around, but nature can’t take away that he needs Dean at his back when night falls.

And it’s not like Dean is going to protest against Sam’s scent being the first and last thing he experiences in a day.

They’ve burned a trail from Massachusetts to Arkansas, eight different hunts in ten weeks, winter changing to spring and bringing with it a wealth of Things That Need To Be Killed. Follow the blood, and they’ll find what they’re looking for.

Dean’s seen enough blood in that time to last him a lifetime, and they’re catching another trail, but Sam wants to be sure.

“Looks like there was another death last night,” Sam says, turning his laptop screen so Dean can hook his chin over his naked shoulder and read the article for himself. “Dismemberment, weird tear marks, black residue around the neck - or, where the neck was.”

“You really need to work on your pillow talk.” They’re still in bed, naked, because Dean has this thing about maximum skin to skin contact now. “Got photos?”

Sam scrolls, and yeah, there are photos. Gruesome, bloody, speaking of a horrible, very painful end. Dean feels a little queasy just looking at them, and yeah, it’s their line of work but it still doesn’t mean some shit doesn’t get to him. “The hell could have done that?”

“Demon, maybe? This sounds like parts of a lot of different things, but no one smelled sulfur, apparently. Think that should have been mentioned.” Sam looks back at him, hair tousled and mussed from Dean’s fingers. “Next guess is a skinwalker.”

“We’re in Navajo country, and it’s not exactly like hell has been active lately.” Sam puts his laptop aside, leaning back into Dean’s shoulders. “What’s the journal got in it about skinwalkers anyway?”  
Dean picks up the fat leather volume from the bedside table and scoots to where he’s beside Sam, propping it on his thigh so they can both look through it. “Says they’re shaman who performed heretical ceremonies to summon evil forces so they can take the shape of an animal.” They keep reading, and Dean’s optimism about this case is lessening further and further. “So magic, evil, might take the shape of a fucking jackrabbit. So what, we wait for animal control to pick up a stray dog that turns into a human and murders the puppy police?”

Sam gives him one of those  _ really, Dean  _ looks and closes the journal. “I think it might help to actually see the murder sites first, then go from there. It’s entirely possible we’re just dealing with a garden variety maniac and that’s… almost worse, actually.”

“Yeah, because getting rid of a serial killer is the low end of our priorities. Pretty sure that’s just a public service.” Dean gets up, badly in need of a shower, aware of Sam’s eyes on his back while he looks for his dopp bag. “You uh, coming or…”

“You go ahead, I’m gonna read a little more.” The bed creaks as Sam lies back down, and Dean goes to the bathroom, mind turning over with about a million different questions. They’re doing the job, what they’re supposed to do, yeah - and Dean accepts that. Their life is their life. He probably shouldn’t be asking himself so much about  _ them,  _ what happens if they’re not a properly mated pair. Knotting one another. For all they’ve been doing, and have done so far, neither one of them has gone that far, and Dean hasn’t asked. Hell, Sam, who likes to talk about  _ everything,  _ hasn’t broached the subject yet. Maybe he’s just as nervous as Dean is, holding the same reservations.

The emotional seal is there, one hundred percent. They haven’t fucked around with anyone else sense, and Dean’s a little worried that he hasn’t  _ wanted  _ to. Of course, what Sam’s giving, and has given him, that’s...special. Unique. Something he couldn’t have with an omega even if he wanted to.

And even after showering, scrubbing the grit and dried come from his body, he’s still overwhelmingly aware that he’s changed to recognize Sam’s scent on him first, his own second. He’s as good as claimed, and that feels  _ good. _

But the desire for completion, to be completely Sam’s, and Sam his, it doesn’t go away. He knows that alphas aren’t designed to take another alpha, not back there, but Dean wants to try.

How and when, that’s up to nature to tell them, he supposes.

First?

They have a monster to find.

___

 

There’s blood.

So. Much. Blood.

None of it is theirs - well, some of it. Sam’s bleeding from a cut to his lip and cheeks, mouth curled in an angry snarl as he raises the gun again, firing three shots as he ducks and Dean lines up a shot, in the fucking woods while this bastard runs around, shaped like a mountain lion, corralling and trying to get the jump on him. 

The walker’s been hit four times, which does nothing but piss it off more, each time at less than three feet. They’re covered in bits of gore, skin, collateral damage because that’s just how it is. Blood and guts and pissed off monsters, and Dean’s trying to think three steps ahead of it. 

“Dean!”

Sam’s voice, booming from his right, and the thing leaps out at him, mouth open to reveal horrible,  _ long  _ teeth, and Dean takes his shot, nailing it right through the throat. The mountain lion shape shifts, back into a semblance of a man, screaming a choked out garble. Sam shoots it again, and they watch it die, thrashing and clawing the ground, until there’s nothing but stillness, silence, just the sound of their breathing.

“Salt and burn, Sammy.” The adrenaline flooding Dean’s system right now is overwhelming and he backs off as Sam torches the bastard, gathering himself back up. Sam does as he’s told, the flames bringing forth with them the smell of rotten flesh and angry, purpled smoke, making them both cough and choke.

The walker burns fast, and soon there’s nothing left but a pile of ash, blowing away as the breeze starts to pick up again, whistling around the trees. Dean shudders, looking at Sam, glad they’re alive, whole, if bloodied. 

“Think I’ve had enough for today.” Sam kicks the pile and tucks his gun back in his waistband, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. Dean takes a whiff of the air and yeah, he can smell almost nothing but Sam, and that’s… powerful. “Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean licks his lips, tasting blood, realizes he’s bleeding too, but not bad enough to do anything about it right this second. He follows Sam out of the woods, deliberately staying behind him so that the wind can blow Sam’s scent back in his face. They’re both in just t-shirts, sweat dripping down their backs and making them cling to their skin, the sweat dark under Sam’s arms and at his neck. 

Dean has a sudden, deep need to bury his face in Sam’s pits, pure, hard alpha smell rolling off of him. His cock starts to swell and he can’t do that, not until they’re safe, but Sam smells so, so good, damn the monster blood drying on his arms and face. He has to bite back a groan, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until they’re back to the car, and Sam’s lifting the front of his ruined shirt to wipe the sweat and blood from around his mouth.

“Sammy.”

Dean’s staring at him, looking at his stomach, the adrenaline fading and his hindbrain giving him the all-clear, he can have Sam, if he wants him. Sam looks up, shirt still lifted, eying Dean with curiosity.

“See somethin’ you like, Dean?” Sam doesn’t cover himself back up, letting Dean get close and inhale his musk. This is always the moment Dean feels like he should tread carefully, just in case things go to shit - but Sam’s signaling nothing but want, and Dean can’t quit that, raising his shirt higher until Dean’s right there, sliding his hand up his chest and licking Sam’s sweat from his fingertips.

The salt-heavy taste of him makes Dean lick him up greedily, and Sam’s breath hitches, watching Dean touch himself through his dirty jeans. 

“‘S okay if you want more.” Sam offers his neck, and Dean steps in close, licking up the column of his throat and to his ear, hardening further when he feels Sam pull at his hips. “Can always have me, Dean, fuck, you… you know I’m yours.”

Dean moans, nose buried in Sam’s hair. He’s lost in that scent, Sam’s cock hard against his leg, lightheaded from pheromones they’re both throwing off right now. “Want it, Sam.” He can’t stop himself, gasping when Sam nips at his neck, sharper than normal, and oh, fuck, that’s  _ nice,  _ pure, liquid heat filling his belly. “Just… want it.”

“What, Dean?”

Dean’s on the edge, fighting to stop himself from just dropping to his knees where he stands. “Your knot, Sammy. Need it. Need you to knot me up and breed me, don’t care if it’s wrong.”

“ _ Dean.”  _ Sam bites him again, right behind his ear and Dean’s body lights up, burning hotter than before, and fuck, he’s wet, really, really wet, more than he ever has been and…

Fuck.

That smell.

Dean knows that smell, unmistakeable, inviting, and it’s coming from  _ him,  _ as sure of it as anything. Sam’s eyes get huge, pupils blown wide and dark, and Dean can see it, the moment Sam’s big brain shuts off and instinct takes over, fingers greedy as they go for Dean’s ass and tear past his waistband and yeah, God, that’s it, Dean’s helpless for him, pushing back as Sam’s fingers find his hole. He’s hot, way too hot, and he just. Has to get out of his clothes, give his body up to Sam, his ass leaking slick before Sam’s got his fingers away, licking them like honey from a hive.

He just lubed up for Sam’s knot, and they both fucking know it.

“ _ Dean,”  _ Sam repeats, and that’s it, nothing else to be said. They tear at each other’s clothes, stripping fast, ripping cloth, a snarl of limbs and teeth, kissing and biting so that it’s hard to tell which is which. Sam gets Dean in the back of the car, hanging out the door, ass up and ready. Sam’s over his back, biting and licking his neck, his cock heavy where it rests against Dean’s hole. He’s not in yet, content to milk Dean’s cock while he teases him,  _ go ass up really pretty, for an alpha  _ breathed like it’s meant as a covenant. Dean’s bending, submitting,  _ wanting,  _ body in sexual overdrive but Sam won’t give it to him yet, moving down his back until his mouth is at Dean’s hole. 

Nothing can really prepare him for the molten warmth of Sam’s tongue against him, starting at the bottom of his knot and moving backwards, licking up Dean’s slick as it drips from his hole, precious to him as manna. Dean doesn’t need to be stretched, his body having already taken care of that for him. He had no fucking clue he could do this, could get himself ready for Sam, needing just that special bite, right fucking there, the space behind his left ear still sharp with pain. He can feel Sam’s teeth marks there, already knowing they’ll scar, that place already special to him. Sam’s mark, on him forever,  _ his. _

Dean moans as Sam’s tongue laps over his hole again, tasting, taking, greedy for his slick as Dean is for Sam’s dripping cock. He’s soaked the leather under him, perfectly wet like the omegas that Dean’s filled up countless times. He gets it, he supposes, why they get so desperate to be in this position.

“Look so fuckin’ hot like this, Dean.” Sam finally gets with the program, lust slurring his voice as he pulls Dean up for a kiss, sharing the taste of his body with him. “Gonna fuckin’ breed you, knot you, then do it again.”

Dean squirms, the tip of Sam’s cock  _ right there.  _ “You gonna keep talking shit or actually follow through?”

Sam bites his neck, taking his cock and rubbing it against Dean’s hole. “Didn’t figure you’d beg for it, Dean. You want me in you, big alpha cock stretching you out?”

It’s like Sam’s been possessed, replaced by mouthy, toppy hormones, cock-addled and having no other purpose but to fuck the life out of Dean. Dean’s breath catches, Sam giving him just an inch, the head of his blood-heavy dick pushing into him with agonizing slowness.

“Shit, Sammy, come  _ on. _ ” Dean’s lost just enough of his dignity to beg, and Sam is being  _ ludicrously  _ unfair about giving him what he wants. “Or I swear to God I’ll put you on the ground and do it myself.”

Sam smiles, licking the back of Dean’s neck and the shell of his ear, giving Dean more - but still not enough. “Maybe I’ll let you, Dean.” Another inch, and Dean’s heart is beating so fast it’s bruising his ribs, the stretch and burn of Sam’s cock  _ heaven.  _ “Think you’d look really fuckin’ hot riding my dick.”

Dean’s dripping so much slick that even with Sam being a massive tease he still sinks in, bottoming out with his knot right at his hole. It’s like sitting on a goddamn telephone pole, Sam gently rocking in and out, stretching him that last little bit using just his girth. His body is in high alert, telling him that this shouldn’t feel good, feel right - but he doesn’t back down, head dropping and  _ submitting,  _ willingly let Sam have his body like this.

“‘M ready,  _ alpha _ .”

Sam doesn’t hold back.

His hands grab Dean’s hips, anchoring them both as he picks up speed, teeth sunk into Dean’s shoulder. Dean smells blood, his own, Sam’s, the monster they just torched, hyper aware of every scent and sound around them. He can taste Sam on the air, the very salt of the earth and barely restrained power, fucking Dean so hard that their flesh slaps and echoes off of the forest around them. He’s leaking precome so steadily that he thinks he’s wet the seat, stripping his cock fast, nearly matching the pounding of Sam’s hips, sensation heightened by a constant litany of  _ shit, Dean, got such a tight fuckin’ ass, fuckin’ made for me, swear you are, gonna knock you the fuck up and breed you full, yeah, that’s it Dean, take my fuckin’ cock _ \- and so on, both of them burning hot and fast.

Dean can feel his orgasm rushing forth, his knot swollen to the point of hurting, Sam nailing his sweet spot on every goddamn thrust. He’s waiting for Sam,  _ needs  _ to feel him go first, filled up with the come he’s been promised.

Sam’s back at his mouth, kissing him with a biting pull, voice deepened by lust. “C’mon, Dean, fucking come for me.” He’s getting faster, shaking, covered in Dean’s scent and slick. “Gonna fill you up, fuck, Dean, I-”

His knot expands, plugging him the second before he comes, and Dean can feel every fucking pulse, the  _ warmth,  _ and that’s all he needs, sending himself over the edge and coating the backseat, heavy, thick spurts landing loudly on the leather. It feels endless, moaning at the top of his lungs, and he knows he’s Sam’s now, for good. It’s as deep and fundamental a change as he’s ever experienced, and it feels  _ right.  _ Sam doesn’t get go of him, nuzzling his face and neck, gasping for air when his orgasm finally subsides, milking Dean until he’s dry and they’re locked together, soothing him with kisses and soft touches, nothing left of the frenzy they just worked themselves into.

“How…fuck, Sam, how long’s it last?” Dean’s proud he can string that much together, unwilling to try for more.

Sam pulls at him until Dean’s fully out of the car and standing, the night air a welcome coolness against his flushed, hot skin. “Five minutes or so. Just long enough to make sure… you know.”

“That you load stays plugged good and deep?”

That elicits another bite from Sam, and yeah, this won’t be the first time they do this tonight. “Good.”

Dean kisses him, tenderly, finally aware of just how much of a mess they’ve made of each other. “Hey, Sammy?”

“Mm?”

“How’d you know I would get wet like that?” Dean should be alarmed, but he isn’t. Hell, he’s got that built in, and that makes things  _ a lot  _ easier.

“Didn’t,” Sam confesses, sniffing Dean behind his ear. “Read that some alphas can do it, if another alpha bites them right. Just didn’t know  _ where. _ ”

“Think it was behind my ear - gonna have your teeth marks forever, feels like.” Wounds heal fast for them, but not this one. It’s still tender, oozing the tiniest amount of blood. “Not upset about it, either.”

“Mine.” Sam tightens his hold on his body,  _ belonging  _ there. “ _ Mine. _ ”

“Damn right I’m yours Sammy, always have been.”

And so what if the odds are telling them they shouldn’t?

Dean certainly isn’t going to start listening now.


End file.
